Damaged (Boys of Winter #2) - Sheridan Anne Page 0,47
the hallway, wondering what kind of insane fuckery is heading their way.
I get halfway down the hallway before I see the door ahead open and three men step out to see what’s going on—Preston Scardoni, Harlen Beckett, and Matthew Montgomery, the asshole who insists on talking shit.
Scowls cross all their faces, and seeing as though these three men are part of the eight who stand against everything good in the world, I wonder just how easy it would be to knock them down like bowling pins.
As my bike comes to a stop, the men disappear back inside the room and I don’t waste time following them in.
There’s nearly a body at every seat, and apart from me, it looks like we’re just waiting on Carver and the old dude who sits directly across from him that never really says much.
“Elodie,” Sebastian Whitman says, standing from his seat and leaning forward over the table, bracing himself on his knuckles. “Must I remind you of the high standard we hold here at Dynasty?”
I groan to myself, desperately trying not to show just how infuriating his comment was. He sounds like some hoity-toity CEO speaking down to the new intern. “I was under the impression that this meeting was urgent, seeing as though you’ve called me here on a Sunday afternoon.”
“It is,” he insists.
“Good, then we agree. I took the best form of transport to get me here in a timely manner. Now, what’s so important that it needs my attention right away?”
Earnest Brooks clears his throat from beside me. “Excuse me, Miss Elodie. We are still waiting on two members of our group. We must not commence without them.”
I let out a sigh and lean back into my chair. As we wait for Carver and the other guy, I glance around the room. Everyone sits in awkward silence, and not a single conversation flutters around the table. Someone could let one rip and you’d hear it from a mile away.
The thought has a ridiculous grin stretching across my face, but when the door opens and Carver walks through, I instantly straighten. I watch as he leisurely walks around the table, making a mockery of wasting everyone’s time.
The seven men on the left side of the table stare at him as though he’s some kind of traitor, while the right-hand side watches him with curious stares, wondering if things are finally going to change. Did Carver switch sides momentarily to get me out of that cell, or is he jumping ship and finally making the change that Dynasty so desperately needs to see?
By the time he takes his seat, the other guy is rushing through the door looking frazzled for being the last to enter. “I apologize,” he says, hurrying toward his seat. “Let’s get this started.”
“Yes, let’s,” Preston Scardoni says from across the table. “We must discuss your plans for the future of Dynasty.”
“My plans?” I ask, my brows raising, more than aware that these dickheads aren’t ready to hear the real plans that I have for Dynasty. Though I’m also wondering why they consider this urgent. This could have waited til tomorrow. “Apart from finding out who was behind the attack in the woods, discovering who helped Royston Carver cover up my parents’ murders, and taking down Sam Delacourt, I have no plans.”
“No,” Preston says. “That is not good enough. You are our leader, you must lead.”
“Oh, so this billion-dollar corporation falls all on me?” I question, my stare boring into his. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought this was a council. We work together for the greater good of Dynasty. Put your ideas forward and we’ll vote on them as a group. Was that not the intention of this group, or am I here solely to carry the load of sixteen grown men? Now, I’ve told you what my plans are, and I’m not here seeking approval. You’re either with me or against me.”
Grayson’s father narrows his eyes. “That’s not how we do things around here,” he tells me in a tone that his son is all too good at replicating. “You have no proof that Royston had help, and the same goes for the attack in the woods. Who’s to say that wasn’t an outside force? You’ve made plenty of enemies in your short eighteen years.”
“Who do you take me for?” I ask him. “I’m no fool, and I know when someone is conspiring against me. I will get to the bottom of this. The Royston threat